Little Red and her Big Bad Wolf
by AllNewKatyana
Summary: Kitty Pryde, better known around the land as "Little Red", learns a startling secret about her lover, Illyana Rasputin, after a near-fatal accident. Little Red Riding Hood AU, set in the early 19th century.


**NOTE:** _This is just one scene out of a possibly bigger fic that we're not sure if we want to continue with or not. If there's interest in it, we'll consider going back and starting this fic from the very beginning._

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The harsh winds of the raging snowstorm batter the window's flimsy shutters, violently rattling them and the metal lock holding them together, the one thing keeping them from flying open and sending that rigid air straight into the small cottage. There's still some of it getting through the cracks around the door, whistling through them and giving the main room a slight chill; it's not too bad, though. The heat from the fire burning in the fireplace keeps most of it away and what _does_ reach the exposed skin of Kitty's face isn't cold enough to bother her all that much. Besides, she's more concerned about Illyana, anyway.

Kitty kindles the flames that crackle and spit, the flickering light casting dancing shadows on the blonde's half-naked form. Her grandmother's quilt hides most of her lower half, but the waistline of her bloodied trousers still peak out from underneath it. Her pale skin seems a slight shade darker in the dimly lit room, but the bruises that cover her back like points on a map are still painfully visible even from several feet away. More worrisome is the wound just to the left of her spine from where Kitty had pulled a silver-tipped arrow after she had managed to carry her back to the cottage. She'd cleaned the wound as best she could with the vinegar her grandmother kept stored away in the cupboards and smeared it with honey to help fend off any infection. God, she hopes it works. Illyana hasn't been conscious since Kitty found her lying face down in the snow in torn clothing and covered in blood she isn't sure is all her own with the arrow embedded in her back. She doesn't know what else to do and every time she thinks about her _not_ waking up, her chest gets tight and her throat starts to close and tears burn in her eyes. Sometimes they fall, sometimes she manages to fight them back, but the thoughts are always there, lingering in the back of her mind like a snake coiled up and ready to strike when she least expects it.

She spends another hour by the fire, keeping it going strong even though it hasn't even shown any signs of dying out. She just needs something to do, something to keep her mind off whether or not her lover is going to survive the rest of this awful night. She thinks about cooking supper, a broth or something she can feed to Illyana if she wakes, but for as much as her stomach is rumbling and aching, the thought of eating makes her sick. So Kitty resigns herself to sitting by the fire, her red cloak wrapped around her for added warmth. Eventually, she finds herself dozing off.

Sometime later, she awakens to the sound of shifting cloth and a faint, rapid clicking sound. Her brown eyes crack open slowly, blurry at first but adjusting quickly. On the bed of blankets on the floor she can see Illyana's body trembling and listening more closely, she realizes the clicking is the sound of her teeth chattering.

"Illyana?" she tries, lurching out of her seat with her cloak and her blanket to round the small bed on the floor made of nothing but folded quilts and a fur rug. She kneels down in front of the other woman, a spark of hope finally igniting in her. She still _appears_ to be asleep, but the sound of Illyana muttering back at her in her unconscious state makes her the happiest she's been all night. _This has to be a good sign_.

Kitty gets up quickly, gathering up a few more blankets to extend the "bed" she's made Illyana. She doesn't want to cover her in quilts and things because she doesn't want to crowd the wound. It needs to breathe and be left alone until she can go get the supplies she needs to bandage it once the morning comes. So, she has to keep her lover warm in the only other way she knows how to. She lies down next to her, pulling her own blankets over her body to snuggle into their warmth even as she scoots in closer to the other girl. She throws one of the quilts and her cloak over the both of them and drapes her arm over Illyana's waist to gather some of the cloth in her hands so she can pull it away from the wound while keeping her as covered as possible.

It works, and after a few moments Illyana stops shaking and her teeth stop chattering and she's barely lucid but she still manages a breathy, quakey, "thank you", though nothing more. She doesn't even open her eyes. But Kitty swears she can see the beginnings of a smile on the corners of her lips. Maybe that's going a little too far, maybe it's wishful thinking, but a girl can hope and hope she _will_.

When Illyana's breathing slows and steadies and she looks a lot more peaceful and less in pain than she's been all day, Kitty decides that maybe it's okay to finally contemplate what this means.

The silver-tipped arrow belongs to one of her father's huntsmen, she knows that. She also knows they've never made a mistake this bad before, and if Illyana—with her golden hair and her pale freckled skin—had been shot and left for dead, that means one thing. She's one of them, one of the werewolves born out of "dark magick and evil", her family claims. One of the monsters they always say are out to get them. She's sure she'll be angry later—when there's no more uncertainty about whether or not Illyana will live—that Illyana didn't tell her. But right now, she can't shake from her mind that her family is wrong. Not all of them are bad. Not all of them are out to kill them. She's looked into Illyana's bright, blue eyes a thousand times and never once has she seen any ill-intent. She's never touched her in a way that isn't gentle and loving. She's never been anything but _kind_ , to her _or_ her family.

Brushing her lover's bangs from her forehead, Kitty refuses to believe that any of it is true. Her fingertips trace along her jaw, thumb ghosts over her cheek like she's made of glass. She feels Illyana press into her hand, but she doesn't say anything, she doesn't move any further and her eyelids don't even _crack_ open. The brunette just smiles, small and warm, and tucks some of those loose blonde strands behind Illyana's ear.

It's a strange thing, to say she's in love with the Big Bad Wolf, but it isn't all that hard when the wolf isn't so big and bad after all.


End file.
